Thus sat the two in the growing gloom. Thus sat they when the priests returned from the seashore where they had been carried by the silent one’s will. When they entered, the hand lamp was burned out, the altar fire so feeble that they hastened, alarmed, to restore it. The more than semi-darkness was terrifying.
Search was made for another hand lamp. When one was found and lighted, Atlano and Oltis were discovered sitting behind the statue of Amen. Both were marble, save their baleful eyes. At sight of them, the startled priests fell back one upon another; then turned, shrieking, to flee.
When without in the temple, Kluto said to them, “We have brought vengeance upon us. Let us try to win pardon while we may. But look—I cannot make this flame last long.”
“We will help.”
Terror-stricken, they fanned the dying blaze. Though no life would come in it. At length, they tottered to the portico, suffocating of dread.
But—what had come over the face of earth? It was smiling when they had entered the temple after returning from the shore; yet now, a strange gloom, a murkiness was enveloping sky, ocean, stream, valley, hill. And significant, far-off rumblings were beginning; the ocean was becoming white; the stream Luith, as well as the other streams, was leaping up its banks. On every side, people were crying out in affright. What was this?
Priests and handmaids ran out to the great court; and paused to look about in horror. Suddenly, lurid lights filled the northern heavens. Were the mountains of the northeast belching flame? Was that deafening noise to the east the roaring of the incensed waters? They fell on their knees to supplicate forlornly.
But Kluto, best of his fellows, could not pray long for thought of the king and high priest. He started to his feet, crying:
“Who will go with me to save King Atlano and High Priest Oltis?”
None answered. Indignant, he turned from his brethren to dart back to the temple; and flew through it to the inner sanctuary.